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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28310187">Skeletons</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellexoxo/pseuds/ellexoxo'>ellexoxo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bodies [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Dom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Destiny, Drama, F/M, Fanfiction, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kaer Morhen, Older Man/Younger Woman, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Romance, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Unplanned Pregnancy, Winter At Kaer Morhen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:33:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,455</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28310187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellexoxo/pseuds/ellexoxo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"We have to cling to something. If we don't, the world descends into chaos."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bodies [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591702</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Skull</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Geralt and Adelaide’s relationship is deepened further as the second chapter of their journey together develops. I haven’t played the games and most of my knowledge of Kaer Morhen and the surviving Witchers is from other pieces of fanfic/the show so this won’t really abide by Witcher lore.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>---</p><p>There was once a time when Geralt of Rivia's heart held no desires. </p><p>"You must want something for yourself once all this… monster hunting nonsense is over with."</p><p>         "I want nothing."</p><p>         "Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you."</p><p>"You say this is all life is to you, but there is a vortex of fate around all of us, Geralt, growing with each and every one of our choices… drawing our destinies in closer. I feel something out there waits for you. Something more."</p><p> </p><p>Swarms of voices encircled his consciousness as the weight of his eyes lost their heaviness. His mouth dried at the memories of lonely travels. His heart jaded, cold, benumbed. Geralt awoke, swift breaths escaping his lungs. His hand instinctively stretched out to the jug of water sitting upon the nightstand. He drank with a voracious thirst, glad to have escaped yet another night of dreams laced with stampedes of destiny. As if his consciousness—or something deeper—tried to tell him something.</p><p>“Geralt?” A soft voice to his left called out. It was gentle, warm, sweet. His eyes turned to face his lover. An ousted princess who he claimed as his own, the wolf medallion dangling from her clavicle as she squirmed away from her state of sleepiness.</p><p>“Good morning my love,” he groveled. The low, sandpaper like edge of his voice a stark contrast from her sweet one.</p><p>“Good morning,” she cooed, a smile appearing on her face, buried in the softness of feather-filled pillows. “You’ve been mumbling in your sleep all night.”</p><p>“You heard that?”</p><p>“Didn’t sleep the best either last night.”</p><p>“You miss the villa,” he stated, more of a declaration than a question. The couple had left for Kaer Morhen only a few moons ago. Adelaide’s parting from a small piece of her old life was difficult for her, the Witcher had noticed, though she displayed barely any signs of it. The villa was their home for about a month as the seasons transitioned to autumn. Now that winter was on the horizon, he had invited her to spend the season of snowfall with him in his childhood home, Kaer Morhen.</p><p>“Yes,” she grumbled, leaving it at that. Adela, it seemed, had began to adopt the Witcher’s habit of responding with only one-word sentences.</p><p>“We will visit again, when we have the chance.” He assured her gently, his fingers brushing a lock of hair away from her face.</p><p>She caught his hand, kissing it with such care and intent. He felt soft, content. “How many days til we reach the keep?”</p><p>“We should arrive later this evening, long as we leave by lunchtime.”</p><p>“And what shall we do til then, my love?” she asked cheekily, taking his fingers that she held captive and placed them in her soft mouth, sucking.</p><p>He grinned at her eagerness. “You told me to urge you to gather some supplies from the market for the winter.” He wished he could take her that morning, the sight of her bare body wrapped in the cheap cotton provided by the inn ignited a deep, carnal hunger. “Come on, little usurper.”</p><p>She groaned at the terrible, drawn out nickname he coined for her. “Fine!” she huffed. “But only because these cute little soaps caught my eye the other day.”</p><p>“Good girl,” he praised, tapping her upper arm as a signal to finally leave the comfort of the sheets.</p><p>“I shall meet you for lunch,” she told him as she placed a kiss on his cheek. “What’s on your agenda today?”</p><p>“Update our inventory log, perhaps do some writing.” His forehead creased. “Or I could come with you.”</p><p>“Nonsense,” Adela chided. “No offense, but we’ve been conjoined at the hip these last few days.” The girl shrugged on a beautifully detailed velvet dress that she had brought from the villa. It was a dark, emerald green and showed off her curves beautifully. The neckline dipped slightly, displaying a tasteful amount of cleavage. The shoulders were padded, and the rest of the velvet cascaded into long sleeves down her wrists.</p><p>“None taken.” Geralt sat at the edge of the bed, watching his love get dressed for the day. Once the sweeping skirt of the dress hit the creaking wooden floor, the princess moved her way in between his legs.</p><p>“You worry too much,” she whispered under breath.</p><p>“No,” he disagreed. “I only worry when it comes to you.” Geralt nestled his head into her core, just underneath her breasts, his arms wrapping around his torso as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.</p><p>“The market is only a few paces away-“</p><p>“The inn in Temeria was only a few paces away.” </p><p>“There is daylight. It will be full of people.”</p><p>“Exactly why I worry.”</p><p>The girl looked down on him, smiling at her lover’s concern. “I know. And you know that I love your protectiveness, Geralt, but please… I don’t want to feel….”</p><p>“Controlled?” he suggested, looking up at her. She found a hint of semi-amusement on his face. A trace of humor pooled in seriousness. “Stifled, repressed?”</p><p>Adela sighed. “Something like that.”</p><p>Geralt’s overwhelming protectiveness was something they often butt heads about. Adela, in her stubborn Aquarius ways, always yearned for her freedom. She didn’t always like when Geralt insisted on following her wherever she went. Geralt, on the other hand, felt it was his responsibility to look after her. It was a vow he made to both himself and the woman he loved. He never wanted her to be in any sort of danger. If anything happened to his little usurper, he would surely blame himself.</p><p>“I will wait two hours, then I’m coming to get you myself.”</p><p>“You sound like my father,” she snorted. “Fatherhood would suit you,” she whispered.</p><p>Geralt didn’t respond. He only kissed her deeply before letting her navigate the closest village to Kaer Morhen in a quest to collect artisanal soaps, oils, salves, and other items they may need during the winter. In the midst of their kiss, her hands slid slyly into the pocket of his trousers, fishing out his bag of coin. She winked at him before descending down the stairs of the inn.</p><p>His lips pressed together. When did he allow himself to surrender his coin without protest, he thought to himself. No matter, it would make his princess, his little usurper, happy.   </p><p>--</p><p>The ousted princess tugged the hood of her cloak firmly over her shoulders. Snow had begun to fall, and the villagers flooded the markets to buy food before the winter settled. Merchants bargained prices with the shoppers, barking at each other as they did so.</p><p>Adela entered a higher end shop with significantly less people than the other ones. She had found a stash of almost a five thousand crowns at the villa. She had taken only 300 for their journey and left the rest for safe keeping in case it was needed in the future. Most of it was used for the various inns and was on the brink of depletion. Thankfully, Geralt saved enough money to budget for supplied.</p><p>Pockets full of coin and an excited grin on her lips, she thumbed through the apothecary’s wide array of bathing and grooming supplies.</p><p>
  <em>At the store, an apothecary. I believe it’s called Clean Mint, or something new-age like that. </em>
</p><p>The girl sent a telepathic message to the Witcher.</p><p><em>Modernity will kill us all</em>, he replied back. Adela chuckled.</p><p>The apothecary was definitely luxurious.</p><p>With the help of the shopkeeper, Adelaide collected an assortment of her favorite bergamot soap, lavender and jojoba oils, as well as a variety of salves for both healing and aesthetic purposes. She had also selected a few candles that smelled like marshmallows and cookies. She wasn’t sure what would be available to her at Kaer Morhen, so she stocked up on a bit extra of everything. She bought rolls of leather, wool, and cotton so she could make extra pieces of clothing once she arrived at their destination.</p><p>As a special treat for her Witcher, she had picked up a cream smelling of winter pines. It was extremely masculine -- earthy, musky, and smelled exactly like him. Surely, it would be a huge help to treat the chapped skin of his hands as a result of the brutal cold.</p><p>The other shoppers in the apothecary eyed the beautiful woman carefully. She looked young—much too young to be the wife of a nobleman who had this kind of money to spare. Perhaps she was the daughter or governess of a high family of Kaedwen, they thought. That would explain the velvet, expensive looking dress and long receipt. The girl only smiled in response to their stares. They had no idea she was traveling with a Witcher.</p><p>The princess was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to pay much attention to the townspeople. She wondered what her life would be like with Geralt at the keep. She wondered if Vesemir, the old witcher Geralt spoke of occasionally, would like her. She wondered what his brothers would be like the most. He seemed to speak of them the least.</p><p>If they were anything like Geralt, perhaps she shouldn’t dwell too much. She already got one witcher to fall for her after all, what’s three more? Platonically, of course.</p><p>Geralt often mentioned that they would spend the winter training and hunting, as typical of many in his profession. The princess wasn’t exactly sure if these activities would include her. Adelaide’s magic was sharp, clean, blinding. After years on the run with a witcher, her skills with swords grew to be formidable, but rusty at best due to her magical abilities. She rarely had the need to actually apply them. She worried that his brothers would look down upon her. Adela frowned at the thought.</p><p>Passing the outdoor farmer’s market, she bought a large amount of root vegetables as they would keep the longest. Onions, potatoes, celery root, ginger, and fennel spilled from her shopping bags. She even had enough money left over to purchase a whole chicken and herbs for potions, and even then some. The farmer’s market was just about to shut down for the day, and the offered her a significant discount. Satisfied with her bounty, she headed off back to the inn to meet her White Wolf for lunch. Her stomach growled, hoping for a stew or cut of venison waiting for her.</p><p>A young man had stopped her as she walked away from the village square. He was alone, and looked to be around her age.</p><p>“Miss, let me give you a hand with that,” the young man said, his arms extending to relieve her of the heavy groceries and goods from the apothecary. He was tall, not as tall as Geralt, and he definitely wasn’t ugly. He looked familiar to her, but the girl couldn’t quite put her finger on it. </p><p>“Oh, no, really I’m fine,” Adela insisted. She shied away from the stranger, eager to get back to Geralt before he came to look for her like he promised. A slight breeze shifted the hood of her cloak back to give him a good luck at her face. He paused in his tracks, almost frozen, but not at the freeze of the fresh snow.</p><p>“Ad-Adelaide? Princess Adelaide of Brugge, is that you?”</p><p>Adela looked around in a frenzy, shocked at this stranger’s recognition of her when she didn’t even know him. Thankfully, no one was around besides the two of them. The rest of the townsfolk had scurried inside, either to their homes or into the shops for warmth. The farmers had packed up the remainder of their produce and booths to travel in the opposite direction.</p><p>“Keep your voice down!” she hushed him. Adela peered at this stranger’s face again. Suddenly, it hit her. “Aston?”</p><p>“Yes! I always knew you were alive, hiding somewhere at the edge of the world. I was your personal knight for a day before the sacking of the kingdom had occurred. It was right after I finished my apprenticeship… I guess I wasn’t as prepared as I thought,” the man admitted. Adela was stunned. She had roamed the Continent for four years now, and nobody had recognized her. Mostly because she travelled by the back roads and avoided major cities. Most of her people had died, it would have been a miracle if they escaped the hellfire. “Gods, I have so many questions for you! And obviously I’m not a knight anymore, I make shoes with my father. Where have you been all this time? Is Augustus with you? And are you planning on taking back your throne-“</p><p>“Help me with these.” Adela cut off the ex-knight and placed the bags of groceries in his hand. With a mutter of Elven, they had portalled to the entrance of the inn.</p><p>--</p><p>For the remainder of the late morning, Geralt had organized and packed the rest of their luggage for Kaer Morhen. He took note of the amount of potions he had, as well as other necessities. He checked his map, making sure that they would arrive at the keep before nightfall. Geralt had taken this route for seven decades. The Witcher’s Path, many called it. It was his regular routine whenever he traveled home for the winter. The only difference this year was the woman who accompanied him.</p><p>Geralt wasn’t sure how Vesemir, the closest thing to a father he had, would take to him bringing in a guest. About a week ago he had written a letter to the old Witcher, explaining that Adelaide would be staying with them. He had yet to hear back. He was also uncertain about the way his brothers would act around his companion. How he would introduce her, what he would even call her. His mate? His lover? Sure, they were all true. But if his brothers would ever witness him saying that, he wouldn’t hear the end of it.</p><p>The White Wolf descended down the stairs once the sun had reached its peak in the sky. Adelaide would surely be peckish after her shopping trip, and he wanted to order a meal for the both of them.</p><p>Before he could reach the lobby of the inn, Geralt heard a heartbeat, just as slow as his. His breath hitched in surprise. Rarely did he come across other witchers, but it wasn’t unheard of to run into one in Kaedwen, especially as winter approached.  </p><p>He stepped into the small lobby. It was too early for food to be served, but the flurries had ushered the townspeople to seek warmth for the rest of the day. People flooded in, dragging in traces of sloshed snow. His eyes scanned the room until his amber eyes met a similar pair. He smiled at the sight of his brother, Lambert, who sat at the bar with conversing with the barmaid. The people of Kaedwen were less hostile to witchers, to a certain degree, which is why none of them seemed to really care that there were two witchers in their presence.</p><p>Ever the flirt, the other witcher kissed her hand as she left him an extra tankard of ale. The barmaid grinned before serving the other patrons.</p><p>“Geralt,” the other witcher greeted him.</p><p>“Lambert.”</p><p>“I was worried you wouldn’t make it to the trail this winter.” Lambert’s eyes examined Geralt’s body language. “It’s unlike you to arrive this late. You’re usually the first one there.”</p><p>“I was a bit… held up. What’re you doing here?”</p><p>“Visiting Evangeline.” The corners of Lambert’s mouth curled into a mischievous grin. “I met her two weeks ago on my way to the keep. Promised I’d see her one more time.”</p><p>“Hm.” Geralt sat next to his brother to take a swig of the tankard, earning a scowl from Lambert.</p><p>“Got any good stories?”</p><p>“Monsters and money. Same old story.”</p><p>“No, idiot. Of course, I know that. I mean girls.”</p><p>“Girls?”</p><p>“Don’t act like a virgin,” Lambert scoffed. “Got any good fucks on the road? You’ve built quite the reputation, Butcher of Blaviken.”</p><p>Geralt grunted at the sore nickname he earned many years before crossing paths with Adela. “Well.”</p><p>“Well!” Lambert laughed. “Speak freely, little brother. You’re quite particular about the whores and mages you like to bed. Tell me, which beautiful brunette did you get into your trousers this year was your favorite?”</p><p>Before Geralt could speak, the smell of her, accompanied with a flurry of other delicate scents, invaded his nose. The front door of the inn swung open to reveal his Adela. Despite the chill, his heart warmed at the sight. Her back was towards them, but nonetheless, the white wolf could make out the shape of her silhouette through the layers of wool and velvet.</p><p>“Geralt, you’ll never guess how many soaps they had! Oh, the shop was so lovely, I could barely pick-“ The princess turned around to face him and, another witcher?</p><p>Adela raised an eyebrow at the sight. Geralt mirrored her expression, his jaw clenching once he laid eyes on the man standing next to his love. He seemed to be with her, since he had followed her as she made her way to where Geralt and Lambert sat. He glowered at the young man, causing the ex-knight to swallow, his eyes fleeting to Adela with worry.</p><p>Lambert’s eyes nearly bugged out of his skull when he saw Geralt’s woman. She was petite, yet built with strong curves and muscles hidden underneath the thick garments she wore. Her brown hair, as Lambert expected, was dusted with snowflakes as brunette locks cascaded from her face.</p><p>“And who might this be?” Lambert asked, starstruck from her beauty. The girl smiled. She didn’t shift nervously in her boots like many other women did in his presence.</p><p>“I ask the same,” Geralt rasped, still glaring at the young man next to his princess.</p><p>“I am… Adelaide. Of Brugge. And this is Sir-“</p><p>“I’m not a sir, anymore,” the young man interjected awkwardly. He looked helplessly uneasy.</p><p>“Right. This is Aston of Brugge. He was my-“</p><p>“This is Lambert, my brother,” Geralt, as much as he didn’t want to cut her off, could barely stand the name of another man on her lips. He would ask for forgiveness later. Adela had a tendency to retain her royal mannerisms and was not used to being interrupted, as per her upbringing.</p><p>“It is nice to meet you, Lambert.” Adela resisted the urge to curtsy, as she normally would. She was intrigued by this witcher, the mischievous smirk seemed to stay glued to his expression, unlike Geralt’s permanent glare or expressionless, brooding countenance. He seemed playful, rebellious almost.</p><p>“Nice to meet you as well.”</p><p>“Geralt has…well, he hasn’t spoken much of you. But I’m glad we have finally met.”</p><p>Lambert’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He glanced at Geralt. “He has…? Well, I never thought Geralt as one to open up to his whores, thought I guess the loneliness has gotten the best of him-“</p><p>“Whore?” Adelaide took a step back, hurt and confused at what this witcher, Lambert, had just said to her. Is that what Geralt had told his brothers? That she was merely his whore and nothing else?”</p><p>“Erm…” Aston squirmed again. He didn’t like the awkward tension. He opened his mouth to suggest placing the princess’ groceries in her room before Geralt had attempted to fix the situation.</p><p>“No, Lambert, Adelaide is… my… Mine. Adelaide is mine.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ribs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t clear whose turn it was to speak after Geralt publicly asserted his claim on the princess. Adelaide was taken aback at her witcher’s bold articulation, as labels or names was never really discussed in their relationship. They just…were together.</p><p>Lambert almost spit out his beer. It was unheard of for witchers to claim mates or hold long term relationships. The conditions of their profession weren’t conducive for monogamy. He ogled at the wolf medallion she wore around her neck. They must have been quite serious. </p><p>Aston, now piecing together bits of information, couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that this witcher was now the mate and traveling companion of the Great Tigress. Surely, it had to be some sort of strategic move to usurp the throne, he thought. </p><p>Before any of them could speak, the owner of the inn stormed into the lobby almost foaming at the mouth from anger. </p><p>“Aye! It’s bad enough to have one witcher here, but two will drive out all the customers! Both of you!” The owner, unlike many of those in her profession, was a short, old and wrinkly woman. A broom was in her hands, waving and shooing away at the Witchers. “Get your whore and go back to where you came from!” She bellowed. </p><p>Adelaide, irritated that everyone today seemed to take her for a whore, turned around to give the old woman a piece of her mind. </p><p>“Nelda!” Aston cried out. “She is no whore! This is-“</p><p>At the turn of Adela’s head, the old woman’s broom dropped to the floor. Her mouth was agape in shock. “Princess Adela,” the owner gasped. </p><p>Adelaide’s heart sunk to her stomach. She glared at the ex-knight for exposing her like this, so publicly and without her consent. </p><p>“Princess?!” Lambert was just as confused as the owner and patrons. The customers of the inn gawked at the scene in front of them, almost silently waiting for the girl to say something. </p><p>“Aye! The rumors are true!” a male voice from the back called out. “Our princess lives!” The crowd erupted into a loud, joyous cheer before one by one, dropping to their knees to kneel before her, heads bowed in reverence. </p><p>“It’s alright,” Aston assured her, gently patting Adela’s forearm, earning him a death stare from Geralt. “A group of refugees from the sacking of Brugge sought safety throughout Kaedwen, to escape the war. It was a difficult journey, but we all made it here, to a new place we can call home.” The ex-knight smiled. “We have always had hope that Brugge would rise again. To the Tigress of Brugge!” He threw his fist in the air, prompting the others to join him in his rejoice.  </p><p>The princess looked around speechless. Men, women, children, with their clothing tattered kneeled and cheered before her as they did many years ago, whilst she wore a plush dress made of velvet. She couldn’t quite tell how she was feeling, only looked around to study their faces. None of them were here father’s or mother’s. They were all strangers to her. </p><p>Adelaide swallowed the lump in her throat, eyes locking on her Witcher, unsure of what to do. Her pink lips parted to speak, before a grumbling voice cut through the sounds of merriness. </p><p>“Better a merchant in Kaedwen, than an aristocratic slave in Brugge.” The man parted through the crowd, sneering with malice at the ousted princess. He was about the age of her father-- salt and pepper hair and a protruding gut from overconsumption of ale. “Sorry to say princess, but the death of your parents was the greatest thing to ever happen to me. No longer chained to the wills of the upper class.”</p><p>Adelaide’s eyes flickered with anger. Chaos inside her bubbled, unrelenting and toxic. Like a vat of poison. A blade flew into her head with a jolt of her fingers—a small dagger which she had magically beckoned to utilize. With superhuman speed, the girl had pinned the middle-aged merchant to the molding wall. Her elbow pressed against his chest and the dagger pointed straight at his jugular. </p><p>The girl’s eyes narrowed at the man who threatened to speak ill of her and rejoice in her family’s heart wrenching misfortune. The rest of the crowd was silent, now standing at their feet and fearing to intervene. </p><p>“Ungrateful vermin!” Adela’s voice boomed throughout the inn. “You didn’t deserve to escape.” She pressed the dagger at his neck with greater pressure. “The hellfire should have engulfed you.” The Tigress of Brugge, in her past life recognized as merely the Tiger Cub of Brugge, was known for her unweathering reserve and regal composure. As she drove her elbow deeper into the man’s ribs, Adelaide finally realized what the last few years had done to her. </p><p>“Adelaide,” Geralt gingerly placed his hand on the small of the princess’ back. “This isn’t what you want,” he calmly warned. </p><p>She listened to him. “I would have gone to war for you,” she glared into the older man’s eyes that trembled in fear, begging for mercy. If it weren’t for Geralt and the onlookers, the man would have been dead by now. Adelaide was heartless when it came to disrespect upon her family legacy. Rage threatened to consume her. </p><p>She dropped the dagger, allowing it to clatter onto the floor as the onlookers, and the man, took a breath of relief. She stepped back from him, his round body landing on his hands and knees, choking for air. </p><p>Pitiful, she thought. </p><p>The crowd that had cheered and kneeled before her were now terrified. They inched away from her, murmuring nervously amongst themselves. Mothers covered their children’s faces with her hands. Looks of disappointment, disgust and fear replaced their previous faces painted with joy and excitement. Her jaw clenched at the feeling of chaos still bubbling within her. </p><p>“I am no princess.” Her statement was definite and cold. </p><p>--</p><p>Adelaide huffed, seething as she approached the stables. It was time to ride into Kaer Morhen, far away from this place. With a flick of her wrist, the groceries and luggage magically appeared attached their horses’ saddle bags, leaving Aston in protest. Despite what he had just witnessed, he wanted to help the princess, still clinging to the belief that Brugge would one day rise again. </p><p>She ignored his pleas and cries for help. Perhaps Geralt’s heart is warmer than hers, for this was exactly the way the bard behaved. Persistent in aggravations and requests to follow along. </p><p>“I suppose this is your cue to leave,” Lambert rested his hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “She’s a feisty one.” </p><p>“You’re telling me.” Geralt didn’t bother to look his brother in the eye, for his gaze remained on his love as she stroked Abbott’s mane. The two witchers decided it would be a good idea to follow Adelaide out of the inn as to not cause any more of a scene or provoke some type of public stoning, as humans often resorted to. They paused to exchange words quickly at the stable. “Will you be riding with us?”</p><p>“Seems like your lady needs some space to think,” Lambert said dryly. “And besides, I promised Evangeline to stay with her one more night. I’ll see you on the killer, though, probably tomorrow night.” Geralt chuckled at the inside joke many witchers shared. They would often refer to the circular trail around Kaer Morhen as the killer. </p><p>“I’ll tell Vesemir,” Geralt assured him. </p><p>“Keep her safe, little brother.” </p><p>--</p><p>Geralt and Adelaide rode together in silence. The only sound between them was the trotting of our beloved horses’ hooves on the ground, towards their destination of Kaer Morhen. Geralt didn’t exactly want to bring up what had happened at the inn only hours ago. If she wanted to talk about it, they would. He didn’t want to say anything to her that would upset her further. Geralt was always weary about poking a sleeping bear. </p><p>“So Lambert,” Adela started after a couple hours of silence. “He thought I was a whore?” </p><p>“My whore, actually.” He hoped his joke landed. Geralt briefly scanned her face for any signs of a smile. The corners of her mouth curled slightly upwards. He’d take it. </p><p>“And what gave him that idea?”</p><p>“Nothing to do with you. Just my reputation, I suppose.”</p><p>“And what kind of reputation is that, exactly?”</p><p>“My old reputation. My life doesn’t really suit the desires of most women around the continent.” </p><p>She snorted. “Most human women, you mean.”</p><p>“Mages, sprites, they aren’t too keen on the lifestyle.”</p><p>“Yet here I am. A half nymph and royal mage who finally tamed the Great White Wolf.”</p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p>A shorter bout of silence passed through them before the girl had broken it once more. </p><p>“All I keep thinking and dreaming about are Triss’ words. About destiny, how the new king’s time will come, about us.” </p><p>“Hm.” Geralt grunted. </p><p>“Have you ever been in love Geralt?” Adela asked, almost hurriedly like it was the first question she wanted to ask hours ago. </p><p>“I am in love with you.” </p><p>“You are three times my age. Surely there have been others before.” It was Adelaide’s turn to scan the Witcher’s face for any hints of emotions. </p><p>“Lust, like… not so sure about love.” </p><p>“Then why did Lambert look at me like he was expecting to see someone else with you?” Abbott halted to a rigid stop at his rider’s words. </p><p>Geralt sighed. “I will not lie to you or sugarcoat my words. There was once a mage I had spent many years pining after. It was decades ago, before your parents even thought of having you. Yennefer-“</p><p>“Of Vengerberg.” Adelaide finished his sentence for him. “Jaskier told me quite a bit about her during those times you were slumped against a tree.” A blanket of amusement covered her words, and Geralt was now a bit relieved by the slight change of tone in her voice. </p><p>“Then you would know that I never loved her.”</p><p>“You have a type, my wolf.” </p><p>“Enlighten me.”</p><p>“Brunette mages with an urge to seek vengeance and overthrow institutions. Disdain against Nilfgaard, probably traumatized forever by Rectoress De Vries. Sprinkle in a bit of power-hunger. There’s probably more.” </p><p>Geralt grinned at his lover’s humor. “You are mine, Del.”</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Spine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some insights into Adelaide's past. Geralt brings her home for the first time.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading. I love you guys.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Tighter.” My mother commanded to Blythe, my lady in waiting. She stood in the doorway of my dressing room, the corners of her mouth sloping downwards, two hands clasped in front of her, dress and makeup impeccable even at the early hours of the morning. Her gaze drifted throughout each corner of my light pink, borderline juvenile dressing room down the hall from my chambers. She did so to ensure that there was not a garment of clothing out of place, and that each corner of the room was spotless and pristine. Satisfied, her eyes fixated one me once more. </p><p>Blythe’s expert hands tugged at my corset’s ribbons as I bent over, my face squeezing in pain. My intestines would surely burst by now. Blythe, a maiden whose family has served mine for generations, flashed me a soft smile of pity in the mirror. She was not too much older than me, only about ten or so years. She tugged once more, eliciting a pleased sigh from my nymph of a mother. My fingers curled over the sides of the table I had been bent over, my knuckles turning white at the pain and teeth gritting at the feeling of my ribcage threatening to collapse inside my skeleton. My spine curved unnaturally at the base of the small of my back.</p><p>“Must I attend another ball?” I asked haughtily. “I hadn’t an evening at home since returning from Aretuza.”</p><p>Her scowl deepened. “Adelaide Gabrielle Riddley.” I grimaced at my mother’s usage of my full name. “Many girls your age would never miss the chance to attend this season’s finest balls with the most eligible suitors on the continent.” She dismissed Blythe before approaching me, joining me in staring into the reflection of a young girl dressed in plain white undergarments and a light-yellow corset designed for ladies of high status transitioning into womanhood. “It is spring. You love to promenade along the rose gardens during this time of year. Why not be accompanied by a lovely young man-“</p><p>“When I came back to Brugge I thought I would be one of father’s royal advisors.” I turned to face her, my back now to the mirror. “You promised me I could be an influence on the court. I didn’t think I would revert back to my life of-“</p><p>“Privilege? Status? Fortune?” It was her turn to cut me off. I felt myself shrink at her mentioning of the great life of privileges she never failed to let me forget. Mother was always scornful of my desires beyond my royal duties, though I continued to perform them beyond her expectations. “Mage or not. You are still a young woman, a royal princess. You are the tiger cub of Brugge and it is your first and foremost duty to find a suitable husband.” </p><p>My eyes faltered from her face to stare at the marbled floor beneath me. “I suppose I could welcome a few gentlemen to stroll along the cherry blossoms.” I always tried my best to be the perfect daughter, the perfect princess, but it always seemed as though my sacrifices amounted to absolutely nothing in return. I began to feel weary. Brugge, like Cintra, was on a progressive turn. Queen Calanthe had just taken the throne as a single-handed ruler after the death of her husband, King Roegner. It was customary Brugge’s female heirs to assume their legacy instead of defaulting to the first born son. A tradition that was widely recognized as a step towards female equality, though only if the female heir was married. Two steps forward and three steps back, as they say. </p><p>The Tigress of Brugge smiled at my words, her visage now warm and inviting instead of cold and brazen as it was before. “That is the spirit, my girl. Your father and I have fought tooth and nail to give you this kind of life.” I observed my mother for a second. Newly formed wrinkles creased on her forehead and under her eyes. Though still beautiful like many nymphs, signs of aging began to catch up to her—probably due to her stress about the continuation of her royal line and my incessant requests to advise my father. </p><p>“Mother?” </p><p>“Yes my girl?” </p><p>“May I ask you something?” </p><p>“Of course,” she motioned for me to sit on the emerald green velvet sofa in the middle of my dressing room. Her gentle demeanor would surely fleet away as quickly as it arrived after this conversation. </p><p>“If you did not wish for me to apply my sorcery skills to help our kingdom and father’s reign of over our land, then why did you send me to Aretuza in the first place?”</p><p>“Adelaide, I will not have you throw yet another temper tantrum. You understand that who you marry will set the tone of your brother’s marriage, and all the generations after you?”</p><p>“I am powerful, mother!” I stood from the velvet cushions, unwilling to hear yet another lecture. “I was the best student Madame Tissaia de Vries has ever taught. I don’t think my talents should go to waste.”</p><p>“And they will not.” Her tone was cool, collected, stern. “Use your powers however you see fit once you are the queen of Brugge, after we ensure that your parents’ legacy is in the hands of an honorable candidate for the throne-“</p><p>“These suitors are pathetic.” I slumped into the chair at my vanity table across the room, away from my mother. “So boastful, the lot of them. And for what? How must one protect me, the palace, the kingdom, if they all shy away from confrontation and rely on the privileges of their status and upbringing? Prince Ranulf of Lyria speaks incessantly of his fencing prowess but I’m sure his father convinces the training teachers to let him win. ” </p><p>My mother smiled in understanding. A rare sight from the nymph who my father saved many years ago. “A love match. Is that what you want, my daughter?”</p><p>“I want to like my future husband. At least I won’t feel like a pig being sold off to slaughter.” </p><p>“You are not. You are the tiger cub and I suggest you act like it. Now, love matches are more difficult to arrange. Even with a beauty like you it may take years of courting-“</p><p>“Please mother. Brugge is the jewel of the North now, especially with Cintra’s xenophobic mounting of iron walls and slaughters of Elven-“ </p><p>“Enough.”</p><p>I sighed. “All I ask is that you do not make haste of my marriage. I wish you to give my hand to someone worthy of being a king.” My mother said nothing. Only smiled warmly and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Or perhaps my standards are a bit too high,” I sheepishly muttered. </p><p>“There are no standards too high for the man of the highest standard.” Her words were clear, precise, assuring. I nodded, elated that she had finally come around to postponing my betrothal as long as possible. My mother kissed my cheek before briskly walking away to the corridor. </p><p>I sighed at the white gown and matching set of gloves and tiara laid out for me. Yet another night of dancing with princes not worth their weight and forcing a smile on my face. </p><p> </p><p>I stared at the crumbling castle in awe. Aging and disheveled yes, not yet fully recovered from the brutal pogrom Geralt had told me about in passing. Perhaps we both knew a thing or two about our homes being destroyed in cold blood. I dismounted Abbot as we reached the entrance, still surveying the formerly marvelous castle. It was now greying, cold, somewhat uncared for sans a few places someone had attempted to restore. And yet my eyes glazed over the scenery taking mental notes of the potential this place could have again, if only it was given the time of day. The overall scene was breathtaking—an old keep huddled in the forests of Kaedwen. There was magic here, rudimentary at best, though I smelled the earthy remnants of Witcher axii and aard. I shuddered at the… excitement? Eagerness? Whatever it was, I was glad to finally witness a portion of Geralt’s life he kept mostly obscure from my knowledge thus far. </p><p>“Never seen a castle before?” Geralt smugly chided at my fixated stares as he led me through the courtyards to keep Roach and Abbot. He waited for an answer that never came. “Not much… but it’s as close a home I’ll ever have.” </p><p>“Sorry.” I transported out of my daze. “It’s wonderful.” Night slowly crept in, the sunlight of the day fleeting by the moment. My eyes wandered around the courtyard as Geralt finished unloading the horses. “Why are there goats?”</p><p>“Eskel…my brother. He likes goats. Sneaks them in. Good for bait, too. Lots of wolves and wyverns in the area.” </p><p>“And where are they? Eskel and Vesemir?” Geralt allowed me to carry only one of the six bags we had brought with us as he led me to the west wing of the castle, where a steep, cement staircase emerged. </p><p>“Didn’t see their horses. Probably had to step out to hunt.” I followed him through the steps, taking note of how he didn’t seem winded or fazed by the never-ending climb to the corridor we had finally reached. </p><p>“So, this is where you grew up.” He opened the door to a room on the right. I entered, the feeling of excitement and eagerness bubbling in my throat, my belly. I set my bag down onto the floor. The room was on the smaller side, though it provided a desk, armoire, fireplace, and a hide rug. </p><p>My fingers pulled back the thin curtains covering the window. The view was stunning. The mountains of Kaedwen welcomed the fresh fall of snow, even the lake next to the keep seemed magical. </p><p>A deep-throated grunt escaped from Geralt’s throat as he set down the rest of the bags. I smiled at his efforts. “This was my boyhood bedroom.” </p><p>I turned around to face my wolf, peering into his eyes. Nostalgia must have overcame him as they glossed over the simple room he had spent so much of his youth in. It was challenging imagining Geralt as a young boy here, tending to his wounds after a day of training. Perhaps when his hair was darker, a color like mine. Perhaps he had the same thoughts I had. I noticed the handful of dusty spirits and wine bottles on his desk. </p><p>“Boyhood?” I arched a brow. </p><p>“From my last visit,” he confessed. </p><p>I nodded, approaching the bottle of gin with more pep in my step than the last hours of travel. I took a swig of it right from the bottle, the back of my hand wiping the bitterness of the alcohol from my lips. If my mother saw me now, she would be appalled. Cheekily, I handed the bottle over to my Witcher. </p><p>A warm buzz rang through my core as I plopped myself down on his boyhood bedroom. The alcohol began to chip away at the tensions my body held from events earlier in the day. Seeing the refugees of Brugge, almost killing someone, Lambert mistaking me for a whore, turning my back on the people I almost foolishly would have gotten myself killed for in an effort to take back my seat at the throne. All of it muddled within me as I welcomed the wolf’s warm lips crashing onto mine. </p><p>The bed sunk due to our combined weight, creaking as Geralt’s rough hand flew to grasp my neck between the heal of his palm and calloused finger pads. I gasped at Geralt’s heady passion. </p><p>“Forgive me.” He pulled away briefly, our heated kiss slowing as he stood, towering over me. </p><p>“For what?” I rasped, catching my breath. </p><p>“For rudely dismissing you at the tavern. Your friend-“</p><p>“Ex-knight,” I corrected him. He swallowed. The darkness in his eyes betrayed his hesitations. He wanted me. </p><p>“The name of another man on your lips. Your skin reeking of another man, even after just so much of a small exchange, carrying your things. I cannot bear it, Del.” </p><p>“And yet you speak so freely of another woman.” I hadn’t realized how quickly and easily the comment escaped my lips. I kicked myself for taking that huge swig of gin, the alcohol fuzzing my brain. Drunk words are sober thoughts. </p><p>His jaw clenched, as it so often did when he felt agitated. “Forgive me,” he repeated, cupping my face. My hands grasped at his locks, pulling them so he could kiss me again, so I could forget. Forget who I was, who I was supposed to be. His fingers inched their way to my shoulders to shrug my dress off before halting. </p><p>Geralt pulled away, another frustrated sight and flexing of his jaw. “They’re here.” He must have picked up on their scent or the sound of their slowed heartbeats. Either way, he gently pulled me up from the bed, beckoning me to take a drink from the waterskin. “Sober up,” he commanded gently, with earnest. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t get it, Ad.” The prince of Brugge frowned at his sister, kicking his horse off to follow her. It was mid-morning, after breakfast, on the royal children’s daily riding routine throughout the palace’s beautiful rose gardens and cherry blossoms. Freshly tended land stretched before them, servants hunched over to pull weeds and refresh the soil. “There is no point in marrying for love. I don’t know what kind of stories Blythe has told you but I thought that you’d have learned some sense after coming home from Aretuza.” </p><p>“You have no idea what it is like, Augustus.” The princess shook her head. Nobody seemed to understand. </p><p>“If I was father, I’d have you married to the highest bidder.” <br/>She laughed at his badly tempered words attempting to hurt her, though unsure if he was serious or not. “Good thing you will never be, my dear brother. Your resentment towards me is misdirected. Do not blame me for fate’s designation of you as a second-born.” </p><p>Augustus scoffed. “Do not blame me for fate’s designation of you as a womb to produce an heir-“ </p><p>“Augustus!” Adelaide admonished him. Abbot’s hooves stopped in its tracks as his rider glared at her brother. “I am your sister. You have no right to speak to me like that!” An angry needle emerged in Adela’s throat as she shouted at her brother, capturing the attention of the royal garden servants. “Careful with your tone, Augustus. My future husband, the future king of Brugge, won’t take too kindly with the way you address me. He may even have your head on a stick.” </p><p>The princess galloped off, leaving her younger brother to glower and bark at the servants to get back to work.</p>
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